Strictly for Cash Page 12

  dreamed of making.

  “You’re lying,” I said.

  “Sit down. We haven’t much time, but enough for me to explain the set-up to you. Go on,

  Johnny, sit down and listen.”

  I sat down. She sat a few yards from me, the gun in her lap, the moonlight on her face, and

  in spite of her dishevelled hair and the streak of blood down the side of her nose, she still

  looked lovely.

  Speaking rapidly, she told me the dead man was Paul Wertham, a big-time gambler, the

  owner of three casinos.

  “He’s the head of an organization worth millions,” she said. “The moment it’s known he’s

  dead, the vultures will move in and grab. He has a manager for each casino. They’d grab

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  everything and leave me to whistle for my share. But so long as they think he’s alive,” it can

  be handled. That’s the set-up. I can’t handle it on my own. I can handle it with your help. The

  take is half a million, and you’ll get half of it: two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. It’s

  easy. All you want is nerve, and if you do what I tell you, we can’t go wrong.”

  That was my cue to say no: when I should have walked away and taken the chance of

  getting a slug in the back; when I should have remembered what Tom Roche had said about

  big and sudden money leading to trouble.

  But I didn’t say no. I suddenly realized she was deadly serious. She actually meant half a

  million, and I started to think what that much money could buy.

  “How can you keep his death quiet?” I asked. “How long do you think it’ll be before they

  find out?”

  Then she smiled and relaxed because she knew I was on the hook and all she had to do was

  to hit the line to sink the barb in too deep for me to jump off.

  “We have only to keep it quiet for three or four days: not longer; and the money’s ours. It’s

  as easy as that.” “Go on; keep talking.”

  “Each casino has a large cash reserve in case there’s a run on the bank. The casino at

  Lincoln Beach caters for millionaires. The reserve there is half a million in cash. Each casino

  is in charge of a manager. Jack Ricca runs the Los Angeles place. Nick Reisner takes care of

  Lincoln Beach, and Pete Levinsky, the Paris end.” She was leaning forward, speaking fast

  and softly, and I didn’t miss a word of what she was saying. “Paul was going to Paris when

  he was tipped that Reisner was dipping into the reserve to cover his own gambling losses. He

  had to act fast. The Paris trip was important so he arranged for Ricca to go to Lincoln Beach.

  He phoned Reisner and told him Ricca was on his way and was to have access to the books.

  But at the last moment Ricca went on a drinking jag. Every so often he gets the urge and

  hides himself away with a crate of whisky, and that’s all anyone knows about him until he

  reappears again. Paul had to cancel his Paris trip. There was no time to tell Reisner he was

  coming in Ricca’s place. He and I were on our way when we stopped at Pelotta to watch the

  fights.” She reached out and put her hand on my knee. “Reisner doesn’t know Paul was

  coming in place of Ricca, and Reisner has never seen Ricca. You’re going to be Ricca for just

  as long as it takes us to collect that reserve. That’s the set-up. How do you like it?”

  I sat looking at her.

  “And my cut will be a quarter of a million?”

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  “Yes, Johnny, word of honour. There can be no blowback to this. I’ve as much right to it as

  Reisner has. I have more right to it. Every nickel of it belongs to Paul. If he had made a will

  he would have left it to me.”

  “Can we get away with it?”

  “Yes. It just needs nerve.”

  This was the chance I had been waiting for. I knew it meant trouble, but money that big had

  to mean trouble. Well, the opportunity was there: right in my lap. I wasn’t going to pass it up.

  “Count me in,” I said.

  III

  We had been walking maybe for ten minutes when we saw a light shining in the darkness.

  Another twenty yards brought us to a small wooden cabin, facing the sea.

  “Are you all set, Johnny?” she asked, stopping. “You know what to do. You’re suffering

  from concussion. Leave all the talking to me.”

  “I know what to do.”

  I flopped down on the sand and stretched out while she went on towards the cabin. While I

  waited I tried to keep my mind blank, but it couldn’t be done. I kept thinking of the trouble

  that was piling up for me, but I wasn’t going to side-step it. Come hail, come sunshine, I was

  going to have that money.

  I heard voices. I heard her say, “He just passed out. I think its concussion.” The anxious,

  frightened note in her voice even fooled me.

  A man said, “I’ll get him in, miss. Just you take it easy.”

  Hands turned me over on my back. I let out a groan to tell him how bad I was, and looked

  through my eyelashes as he bent over me. I couldn’t see much of him in the half darkness. He

  seemed short and powerfully built, and that was about all I could see.

  He was powerful all right, for he got me to my feet as if I weighed a few pounds. I made an

  effort to keep upright, then slumped heavily on him.

  “Take it easy,” he said. “It ain’t far. Lean on me as hard as you like.”

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  I felt Della take my arm, and supported between the two of them I made a slow, staggering

  journey across the sand to the cabin.

  They got me on to a bed. I lay still, my eyes closed. I heard him say, “He sure is knocked

  about. What do you want me to do, miss? Get a doctor?”

  “How far is it to the nearest telephone?” she asked.

  “About half a mile down the road.”

  He had moved away from me now, and I took a peep at him. He was elderly, with a tanned,

  lined face and stubbly white hair. I looked from him to her. She had dropped into a chair. Her

  face was tight and hard, and as white as a bone. She must have been tough to have withstood

  the shock of the crash and her husband’s death and still be able to plan and act as she had

  done. But now she looked ready to flop, and the old guy seemed to think so too. He went

  hastily to a cupboard and brought out a bottle of whisky. He poured her a stiff drink, and she

  put it down as if it were water.

  “Our car was stolen,” she said huskily. “We were held up. My friend was hit on the head.

  It’s important we should get to Lincoln Beach at once. I wonder if you would telephone to

  our friends and ask them to come and pick us up?”

  “Why, sure. I’ll do it right away. The name’s Jud Harkness. I’ll be glad to do anything I can

  for you.”

  “I can’t say how grateful I am, Mr. Harkness,” she said, and smiled at him. “We were on

  our way to Lincoln Beach when this hold-up happened. If you could phone …”

  “Give me the number, miss, and I’ll do it. Want me to call the cops?”

  “I want to get him home first. I’ll report the hold-up from Lincoln Beach. The number is

  Lincoln Beach 4444. Can you remember that?”

  “Sure, that’s an easy one,”

  “Ask for Nick Reisner. Tell him Ricca has met with an accident and for him to come out

  here as soon as he can. Will you do that?”

  Harkness repeated the message.

  “I can’t thank you enough.”
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  When he had left the cabin I sat up.

  “What’s the idea of the hold-up? That’ll bring in the police.”

  She looked at me, a far-away expression in her eyes, as if she were thinking of other things

  besides what I was saying.

  “The car might be traced to Paul. I don’t think there’s much chance of it because the plates

  are phoneys, but they might trace it. If they do, the car has to be stolen. You can see that,

  can’t you?”

  She was right, of course, but I didn’t like it. Sooner or later the story would get back to

  Pelotta, and Tom and Alice Roche would hear I had not only clubbed the driver, but had

  stolen the car. Even if they had to think I was dead, I didn’t like the idea of them thinking I’d

  turned thug.

  “Listen, Johnny,” she said, coming to sit on the bed by my side, “in a little while Reisner

  will be here. You’ve got to watch your step. He’s no fool. Don’t let him question you. I’ll do

  the talking. So far as he’s concerned you’re suffering from concussion, and you’re not fit to

  answer questions.”

  I nodded.

  “The one thing he’s going to find suspicious is why I’m with you,” she went on. “He’ll

  wonder why Paul let me come with you from Los Angeles. He’ll probably phone the casino

  and try and contact Paul. All they’ll be able to tell him is Paul’s on his way to Paris, and

  Ricca on his way to Lincoln Beach, and that’s what we want him to know. If Reisner gets too

  suspicious he may try to contact Levinsky in Paris. But Levinsky can’t tell him anything until

  the boat Paul was supposed to be on docks. That gives us four days to swing the job, Johnny.”

  “You said it would be easy.”

  “It is easy. Don’t let Reisner jump anything on you. Leave the talking to me.”

  She got up to look out of the window to see if there was any sign of Harkness. I looked at

  her slim, square-shouldered back, and a stab of desire went through me. There was something

  about her as she stood at the window that would have brought out the primitive in any man.

  Uneasily I shifted my eyes away from her and felt in my pockets for a cigarette. In the hip

  pocket I found a gold cigarette-case. It was then I remembered I was wearing Wertham’s

  clothes, and that gave me the creeps. I lit a cigarette and pushed the case into my hip pocket

  again.

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  She came back to the bed.

  “Better not smoke, Johnny,” she said. “You’re supposed to be pretty bad.” She leaned

  forward and took the cigarette and put it between her lips. I looked up at her, my mouth going

  dry. I had to fight against the urge to grab her and pull her down beside me.

  She must have realized the way I was feeling, for she stepped away from me, her face

  hardening.

  “Get your mind on what I’m going to tell you,” she said. “You’ve got to know something

  about Paul, how he lived, the things he liked. It’s so easy to be tripped up on the small

  things.”

  I got a grip on myself. It wasn’t easy, but I did it.

  “Go ahead,” I said huskily.

  She told me where Wertham lived in Los Angeles, his telephone number, the kind of car he

  drove and a lot of details about his personal life. In a very short time she had given me a heap

  of facts that only a man who had lived with Wertham and worked with him could have

  known.

  She went on to tell me about the casino, what it looked like, the kind of tables used, the

  number of croupiers employed, the amount of profit made in an evening, how much the

  various members of the staff were paid, how many crooked tables there were and how they

  operated. Then she switched to Jack Ricca, and gave me his background. He had joined

  Wertham’s organization about a year ago. No one knew much about him. It was rumoured he

  used to run a night-club in New York, but he had neither admitted nor denied it. He was a

  man who said little about himself.

  “Every so often he goes on a drinking jag,” Della concluded, “and it’s my bet he’s in some

  sanatorium, tapering off.”

  “You mean Wertham employed a drunk like that?”

  “He’s sober ten months of the year. Paul said he has one of the sharpest brains in the

  business. Since Ricca took over the casino they’ve trebled the take.”

  “Well, you’ve told me about Wertham and Ricca,” I said, looking at her, “how about telling

  me something about yourself?”

  “Are you getting interested in me, Johnny?” she asked.

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  That was the wrong word, but I didn’t tell her. Without any warning, and apparently

  because I had seen her at a different angle, she had suddenly touched off my blood: I was on

  fire for her.

  “Call it that if you like,” I said. “If we’re going to work together, shouldn’t I know

  something about you?”

  She gave me a jeering little smile that told me I wasn’t fooling her for a moment.

  “I met Paul two years ago when I was trying to break into the movies. I was down to my

  last dollar when he showed up. As a man he meant nothing to me. He was selfish, arrogant

  and cruel, but he had money and he threw it around. He fell for me, and I played hard to get.

  He spent hundreds on me, took me everywhere, but I was angling for marriage. Finally he got

  so worked up he said he would marry me.” Her full, scarlet lips parted in a bitter smile. “He

  had me for a sucker. The ceremony was phoney. He had a wife already, but I only found that

  out after eighteen months of living with him. He promised to divorce her, and he did. The

  divorce comes through next month, but it’s a little late. All his personal money goes to his

  wife. I get nothing. I’ve lived pretty well these past two years, and I’m not going back to the

  old racket again. That’s why I’m going ahead with this set-up, Johnny, and no one’s going to

  stop me.”

  She was still talking when we heard the door latch click up. I only just had time to flop

  back on the bed and close my eyes before Jud Harkness came in.

  “Did you get through?” Della asked him.

  “Yeah, and he’s coming right away,” Harkness said.

  There was a note in his voice I didn’t like, and I peered at him from between my eyelashes.

  He was looking towards me.

  “Hasn’t he come around yet?” he asked.

  “I think he’s sleeping,” Della said. “He seems to be breathing more evenly.”

  There was a long, uneasy silence, then Harkness said, “The party reckoned it’d take rum an

  hour to get here. If it’s all the same to you I’ll turn in. I’ve got to make an early start in the

  morning.”

  “Why, of course. We won’t disturb you. I’m very grateful for what you’ve done.”

  “That’s okay. Sure there’s nothing you want?”

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  “I have everything.” She stood up. “Don’t bother to get up when Mr. Reisner comes.” She

  paused, then went on, “I’d like you to accept …”

  “It ain’t necessary.” His voice sharpened.

  “Oh, but you must.” I watched her open her bag. She took out a hundred-dollar bill and put

  it on the table. “Can I rely on you to say nothing about this hold-up, Mr. Harkness? If anyone

  should ask you … It’s a personal matter.”

  He hesitated, then picked up the b
ill.

  “Well, thanks. I don’t talk about what doesn’t concern me.”

  He went into the far room and closed the door.

  I lifted my head.

  Della pointed to the uncurtained window.

  “I think he was watching us,” she whispered.

  I thought so, too.

  IV

  From the little Della had told me about Nick Reisner, I had imagined him to be one of those

  brutal-looking characters you see after dark in Chicago’s Loop who pack a gun and a set of

  brass knuckles and loll up against a wall, waiting for trouble.

  But he wasn’t like that at all.

  He was tall and thin and stiffly upright. Although only around thirty-eight, his hair was

  chalk white and thick, taken straight back off a forehead any professor would have been

  proud to own. His nose was hooked and his nostrils flared back, giving him the look of a

  hawk. He got his menace from his thin, sadistic mouth and the cold, remote expression in his

  deep-set eyes.

  He came into the cabin and paused just inside the doorway to stare at Della.

  “Hello, Nick,” she said, and smiled. “Explanations can wait. Let’s get out of here.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted in a stiff little smile. His eyes went to me.

  “Ricca?”

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  His voice was soft, unexpectedly effeminate, and I noticed the tuxedo he wore was

  exaggeratedly tailored, with wide lapels and a sharply cut waist, hinting at foppishness that

  his mouth and eyes contradicted.

  “Yeah,” I said, and got slowly off the bed.

  “Look a little roughed up. Who did it?” he asked.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said.

  “Sure.”

  He stood aside.

  “Help him, Nick,” Della said. “He’s got concussion. We were held up, and the Bentley was

  stolen.”

  “Too bad,” Reisner said, without moving. “My car’s just outside. I came on my own.”

  I went past him out of the cabin, taking my time, knowing he was watching me, knowing,

  too, how hostile he was. Della followed, caught up with me and took my arm. The car was

  parked on the dirt track about twenty yards from the cabin: an Olds-mobile, as big as a

  battleship.

  Della and I got in at the back. Reisner strolled after us and slid under the steering-wheel.

  “I didn’t expect you, Mrs. Wertham,” he said as he trod on the starter. “Quite a surprise.”